Creating A Birds-Eye View of Your Book

Creating A Birds-Eye View of Your Book

Three years ago, I saw my literary hero Nick Flynn speak about the challenges of writing memoir at the University of Virginia. Playwright, poet, and serial memoirist, Flynn discussed the differences between writing a poem and a book. With a poem, he said, you think and wrestle and cajole your words into some kind of meaning over the course of a morning then you go to lunch. But with a book, you spend years walking around with all of these pages in your head. You fear that moving too quickly or paying too much attention to the outside world will send those pages tumbling to the ground. Sometimes it takes so much energy and headspace to manage those pages you become an asshole. 
 
Sound familiar? 
 
I’ve spent years balancing the stories inside my head, hoping to form them into something coherent and maybe beautiful. But in June of 2018, I signed up for the 2019 Writer’s Hotel Conference and was forced to reconsider how I tackle book-length projects. As a conference attendee, I was given the following submission deadline for my yet-to-be-written manuscript: February 15, 2019. To be ready, I needed to knock out the entire draft over the next seven months. Then life took over, as it always does, and frankly, I got stuck regarding where to begin. With four months left to my deadline, I had no choice but to fast draft and find an efficient way to tame my pages into some semblance of order. 
 
Let me introduce you to my new BFF: the chapter summary project. 
 
Chapter summaries are exactly what they sound like: three-to-five sentence summaries of the major events in each chapter. They should include what’s happening, any major conflicts, plot points, and revelations that move the story forward. When part of a book proposal, they have one main goal: make the reader want to know more. As the writer, they can give you a birds-eye view of your narrative arc. 
 
Rules to follow when writing chapter summaries are listed below. For the purposes of this post, I also suggest some additional items that can help you tame an unruly project. 

 

  • Write your chapter summaries in the first person, present tense.
  • Spill the beans. While your story may contain cliff hangers and surprises, chapter summaries let it all hang out. Reveal the major conflicts, revelations, and decisions made by your protagonist so you can see what kind of story you’ve written and how it’s resolved. 
  • Be succinct. If you’re having trouble doing this, it’s likely your chapter is unfocused or too ambitious. For now, record everything that occurs. We’ll return to these chapters later on. 
  • Label each chapter summary with the following itemstime markers (such as month/year when things occur or the age of the protagonist), locations (if there’s more than one), a list of characters who appear in the chapter, and the chapter’s function in the overall narrative arc. Chapter functions may include introducing certain characters, heightening the dramatic need, or serving as major plot points. While this information is inappropriate for a book proposal, it’s a must for your chapter summary project.  

 

 
Once you’ve created your chapter summary project, take a one- or two-week break from your work. Bake yourself a cake. Do your favorite dance. Throw yourself a party. You’ve just completed an extremely difficult exercise. Celebrate this milestone! 
 
After your break, here’s what’s next. 

 

  1. Identify the narrator’s/protagonist’s dramatic need. What does he or she really want? If this is a memoir, what broad theme are you trying to illustrate through your life story? For example, are you trying to illustrate how to find your voice, make peace with the past, or regain a sense of wholeness? Whatever it is, write this down.
  2. Interrogate your story to ensure all events drive toward the resolution of your dramatic need. In memoir, this can be challenging because life is filled with funny, powerful, and poignant experiences. But in story world, only the events that serve the protagonist’s dramatic need belong. Each one should serve a purpose and carry the appropriate weight for the story. For example, if your story is about finding your voice in a troubled mother/daughter relationship, wild childhood adventures with siblings or friends only belong if they helped you find your voice or impacted the mother/daughter dynamic. If they don’t, cut them. Losses can happen at pivotal points in our lives. If you introduce a major loss in the final third of the book, there are two questions you must ask yourself: Does the loss fit with this narrative arc? Can I write about it in a way that drives toward the resolution of the main story? If it creates a gaping wound for the narrator that overshadows the original dramatic need, requires the introduction of many new characters, or cannot easily tie back into the main narrative arc, perhaps this loss belongs in its own book. 
  3. Identify your main characters. Make sure they appear early and return often. Weed out secondary characters who aren’t serving specific purposes and slim down character lists in overpopulated chapters. 
  4. Determine how you will use time. Ask yourself whether you’re creating a linear story, a frame narrative, braid or patchwork quilt. If this your first book, or you’re early in the drafting process, keep it simple. A linear structure is always a good starting place. Once structure has been addressed, look at your time markers to see if the amount of time addressed by each chapter feels reasonable or whether leaping through time would be more effective. Create some rules around how to navigate time and memories then use these rules consistently. Here are a couple of examples. In Sharon Harrigan’s memoir Playing with Dynamite, she tells her story in the simple past tense, however, imagined scenes are written in the present tense to create a sense of immediacy. Rob Spillman’s memoir All Tomorrow’s Parties is a braided memoir that simultaneously tells of his coming of age in Berlin and his return to Berlin after the fall of the Berlin Wall. The child’s story is told in the past tense while the adult story is told in the present tense. 
  5. Examine your unwieldy chapter summaries. Ask yourself the following questions. How do these events move the story forward? Are they necessary? Are they in the right spot and of the right length? Justify everything then bend your chapter summaries to the will of your book’s narrative arc. Give each chapter a focus and a purpose. Delete tangents. Separate events that don’t go together. Make sure everything is in the right place. Modify the connective tissue between chapters so that it includes enough “therefores” and “buts” to create a compelling, inevitable end. (Check out this essay on story structure.)
  6. Print your completed chapter summary project. Paste each chapter summary onto an index card so the project is easy to manipulate. Lay it out and see if anything needs to be added, rearranged, or revised to create a seamless flow. Get it as right as you can before you revise your draft. 
  7. Return to your manuscript knowing you have a handle on your work. As things change or new revelations occur, revise your chapter summary project so you don’t have to keep all those pages in your head. 

 

 
In August of 2019, I’ll have a chance to see Nick Flynn again at the HippoCamp Conference for Creative Nonfiction Writers. I can’t wait to see what other gems he’ll offer. If I’m feeling brave, maybe I’ll thank him for validating the struggle I’ve felt around the pages in my head and share how that struggle led to a major change in my drafting process. 
 

 

Heart Speak Column #2: When a Medically Impaired Mind Derails Your Memoir

Heart Speak Column #2: When a Medically Impaired Mind Derails Your Memoir

Co-authoring a book under optimal circumstances can be a trying experience, but add intermittent cognitive impairment or cognitive decline to the mix, and the challenges are monumental. Learn how to move past heartbreak and outmaneuver the challenges dementia adds to the writing process as I respond to our latest letter writer in Heart Speak, The Memoir Writing Advice Column #2: When a Medically Impaired Mind Derails Your Memoir. Like to post your own question? Learn about our submission process

Twenty-two years after my brother’s suicide I’ve found peace

Twenty-two years after my brother’s suicide I’ve found peace

Twenty-two years ago today, my brother Joe died by suicide during a mental health crisis. He was twenty years old. I was twenty-two, the same age as his death. This morning I walked along the road by the writing retreat where I’m spending the weekend so I can finish the first revised draft of the memoir I’m writing about this loss. It’s almost sixty degrees. Every once in a while, the sun peaks from behind the clouds. Peepers, returning geese, and a very persistent rooster fill the air with the songs of nature. Daffodils threaten to bloom. Life goes on, and I go on with it.

It’s fitting that I’m cloistered away so I can write about him today. During the past four months of intensive writing, I’ve relived much of the pain I felt after his death and the challenges of experiencing a loss so devastating I wasn’t sure if I could ever recover. There’s been much snot-bubble crying, but also some laughter and a sense awe, not to mention a deep feeling of connection to him. Writing resurrects those we’ve lost, and in the process, we resurrect the parts of ourselves we lost too.

If I could talk to my brother, I would tell him I love him and that sometimes he’s an asshat (just like me). I’d tell him that I’m proud of him for trying so hard in spite of all that happened to us and the challenges he faced as a person living with a very serious mental illness. I would tell him I wish he could’ve made a different choice and stuck around long enough for me to give him shit about his gray hair or wrinkles or sagging pecks. We would both lament how the music that once defined us is now “classic rock” and how we’re not sure what’s cool anymore. But most importantly, I would tell him that while I wish he was here, I am at peace. My life is a good one, I spend most of my days feeling very grateful. Maybe he would remind me that he’s never lost as long I keep saying his name and continue to put my pen to the page. Maybe he’ll remind me of the thing he said in his final letter to me: You’re doing great and I love ya.

Before he floated back to that space of memory he now calls home, we’d hug one more time and say the precious words that ended so many of our conversations: love ya. In hearing those words, I would remember that love and life are what we’re here for.

Live fully, love each other deeply, and say I love you as often as you can. If you are concerned about a loved one, say something. If you’re not sure how, call the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline 1-800-273- TALK (8255). They will show you how.

Shanti Namaste, Friends. I love you.

 

Writing Is Your Gift: How to Share It With Others During The Holiday Season

Writing Is Your Gift: How to Share It With Others During The Holiday Season

The holidays are upon us. Whether you celebrate Hanukkah, Kwanzaa, Christmas, New Year’s, the Solstice, or Festivus (for the rest of us), the end of the calendar year is filled with opportunities to celebrate all that is good in our lives. Growing up as a Buddhist with seasonal affective disorder, I’m partial to New Year’s and the Solstice: both symbolize rebirth and the return of the light.

Though I’ll be honest, this time of year hasn’t always been my favorite. While television shows and movies tout the saccharine trappings of the season, I’m very aware that for many people—including me—the holidays can be dark times filled with financial woes, reminders of loss, and family strife.  For a long time, my holiday decorations were limited to the string of lights I’d wound around the six-foot cactus I overwatered or nothing at all. In an effort to be more festive, this year I strung colored lights around my porch and erected a cat-proof Festivus-pole-style holiday tree to remind myself of what’s important: friends, family, our inner light. 
            
At the 2018 Festival of the Book, UVA Professor Mark Edmundson said to write for one other person. See the written word as a gift and refuse to narrow your definition of great writing to a few simple genres. Consider the poem written as a birthday gift. The card that contains your heartfelt best wishes. The love note penned and left on a desk. 
 
As we close out the year, I invite you to view your writing as a gift rather than a vocation. Instead of imagining grand pieces you’ll one day submit for publication, let your art have a simple, rich, and immediate effect on someone else. I guarantee you’ll be rewarded for your efforts. Let’s face it, the thank you of a friend who enjoys your irreverent holiday card is way better than a Submittable rejection. One makes you soar, the other causes you to flip your computer the bird. Even the elation of acceptance is fleeting. Soon after the victory anthem in your head kicks off, you’re left with the panicky realization that someone will actually read your work. Such is the yin-yang of the creative life.  But the love between two people can last a lifetime. 
 
A couple of years ago, one of my dearest friends gave me the best possible gift a creative nonfiction writer could ask for: a pile of letters I’d written to her between 1993 – 1997, years when we lived too far apart to see each other and were too broke for long distance phone calls. At the time, those letters were the lifeblood of our relationship. Many refer to a pivotal time in the book I’m currently writing and confirm key events and things I once believed or said. While I was at The Porcheslast month, banging out my 50,000 words for NaNoWriMo, I read those letters and was transported back in time. 

Letters are a gift for both the giver and receiver. Every year, my husband and I exchange a love letter as our primary holiday gift. I keep them in a special drawer. Every once in a while I reread them and smile. As a closing activity for my Memoir in a Year Part I class, I’ve asked my students to write each other letters of encouragement. When the writing life gets uncomfortable, I hope they serve as tangible reminders of my students’ inherent worth. But letters don’t have to be written just for those you know. During a difficult time in author Reema Zaman’s life, she gave love notes to strangers on the subway as a form of encouragement. Each one contained simple messages like You Are Loved. 
 
Letters aren’t the only gifts you can give during the holiday season. At fifteen, I gave my mother a poem for Christmas. For weeks, I hid the draft under my mattress and revised it after lights out. The effort made me feel like a real author; her tears the gift of my hard work. I’ve also written poems as eulogies and short stories as parting gifts. When my grandmother passed away, I titled her eulogy Lessons from the Gramosphere and used David Letterman’s Top Ten List as a structure. While it was a bit irreverent, and I did say damn in a Catholic church, we all laughed at the quirky lessons my grandmother instilled in us.  
 
Lennie Echterling, one of my mentors from the James Madison University Counseling Program, pens an annual holiday newsletter stuffed with pun-filled articles that serve both as entertainment and social commentary. It’s his way of connecting with family, friends, and those of us who’ve long since graduated, while also reminding us that while the world may be troubled and our work may be hard, we don’t have to be serious all the time. During my master’s program, I watched him write songs for his grandson and stories for friends. Last year, he published a picture book titled Good Night Jung
 
In her new book Almost Everything: Notes on Hope, Anne Lamott writes, “Truth comes in small moments and visions, not galaxies and canyons; not the crash of ocean waves and cymbals . . . The stories we have loved, beginning with our earliest days, are how we have survived, grown, and not ended up in the gutters barking at ants (knock on wood). These stories have saved us, like Jesus and the Buddha, and Martin Luther King have saved our lives and our souls, and Molly Ivins, Mary Oliver, Gandhi, and E.B. White have saved our sanity, our hearts, and our families.”  
 
As writers, we inherently know that stories will save us, but sometimes we forget that truth comes in small moments shared between one or two people or a handful of friends. For the next two weeks, forget about what you wish to accomplish or why it’s so hard to do this and share one nugget of truth with someone you love. Have faith that this is enough. On January first, you can reacquaint yourself with your neuroses and begin suffering where you left off. 

Harnessing the Fast Draft: Eight Essential NaNoWriMo Tips

Harnessing the Fast Draft: Eight Essential NaNoWriMo Tips

Since 1999, millions of writers have accepted the National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo) challenge. The literary equivalent of a Thanksgiving binge, they work to churn out a 50,000-word book over the course of one month. The challenge is not restricted to novelists. This year, plenty of people (including me) are using the challenge to write their memoirs. We’ll call this offshoot NaMemoWriMo for short. 
 
There’s something about the end of the year that inspires us to produce more work. Perhaps it’s that extra hour of sleep we gained at the end of daylight savings time or the promise of feasting and family time motivates us to sit in our chairs. Maybe, with time running out, we can no longer ignore our inner procrastination monster’s frightening roar. 

We talked about the fired-up creativity some of my students feel as my Memoir in a Year Part I class winds down. Endings and deadlines keep us focused. Like my students, I’m working to meet a high-stakes deadline. Earlier this year, I was awarded a TA position at the 2019 Writer’s Hotel Conference. All conference participants receive a manuscript evaluation before heading to New York. As a TA, my manuscript is due in mid-February. Finishing looks to be a nail biter, so I’m tapping into the NaMemoWriMo spirit even if I don’t reach the 50,000-word goal. 
 
In fact, the word count isn’t what really matters. NaNoWriMo encourages us to treat our time and creativity as precious gifts. By committing to the challenge, we take our work seriously. For thirty days we become the writers we dream about.
 
My newsletter is reaching you midmonth. Whether you’re late to the NaNoWriMo party (nothing says you couldn’t run your NaNoWriMo from the 15thto the 15th), or your momentum is flagging, here are some tips to supercharge your creative process. 
 

  • Find an accountability partner STAT: Anything is easier when it’s shared with others. To find an accountability partner, consider friends, family, and colleagues who share your writing goals. Ask social media friends to meet you for virtual writing dates. Those of you who have registered on NaNoWriMo’s website can join their groups, but if you feel like too much of a procrastinator for NaNoWriMo (or you feel too NaMemoWriMo to join a bunch of novelists), this Quora article has a number of links you can check out. 
  • Create a plan: Before you write, loosely outline your process so you have a general sense of where you’re going. Charting your course before you begin will prevent you from getting lost. Even if you’ve already started, take a couple of hours to create a plan for the rest of the month. 
  • Remember less is more: You don’t need unlimited time to be successful. In fact, research shows that those with an abundance of time actually get less done. A healthy dose of pressure is required to work at peak performance. Instead of trying to clear your entire calendar, shut off your computer, stash your phone in a drawer, and set a timer for twenty minutes. Don’t let your pen leave the page until the timer goes off. If you’re stuck, write about how much it sucks to do this, or simply write the words thank you until the next idea presents itself. 
  • Write now, edit later: Rachel Herron, author of Fast Draft Your Memoir, says that writing now and polishing later makes it easier to cut scenes that don’t serve your story. Never forget that your sole NaNoWriMo job is to immerse yourself in your story by creating a quick draft. The pace and immersion encourage your brain to make associations across the arc of your book that may not occur when working at a slower pace. Jot down ideas, sketch scenes, note items for research, and keep moving forward, even if that means skipping around. 
  • Reward every effort: Whether it’s a pat on the back or a Hershey’s kiss, treat yourself for showing up. Simple rewards may include emailing your writing buddy so he or she can cheer you on, going for a nature walk, or giving your favorite furbaby a swift belly rub. When you reach a milestone, do that one joyful thing you’ve been putting off. At a brain level, success begets success. If you don’t believe me, try the alternative: obsess about word count, cry about how far you have to go, and berate yourself for missing any goals. 
  • Adopt a progress, not perfection attitude: Whether you crank out 50,000 terrible words or 20,000 mediocre ones, you’re guaranteed to be further along than you were at the beginning of the month. Not to mention, the act of writing consistently reinforces a consistent writing practice, which will help you meet other long-term writing goals. 
  • Anticipate Your Next Move: End every writing session at the point when you know what’s going to happen next. This is a trick Ernest Hemmingway used to maintain momentum. It will help you spend less time staring at the page wondering what to write.  To maintain the mood of your work-in-progress, Rachael Herron suggests you read the preceding chapter before beginning your next draft. But don’t go back any further, lest you break your momentum.  
  • Retreat Yourself: If you feel like total immersion is required to meet your goal, organize a writing retreat. If you live near Charlottesville, (or even if you don’t), The Porches Writing Retreat* in Nelson County, Virginia offers the solitude needed to help you stay focused. At $65 per night, with limited internet access and a daylong silence policy, you’ll have few excuses to do anything else. You can also check out Electric Lit’s list of retreat centers to see if there’s one near you. But you don’t have to go away to create a writing retreat. Instead of Black Friday shopping, cloister yourself in a room or go to the local library or a coffee shop to write for the day. Ask a friend or accountability partner to join you. If a daylong retreat doesn’t fit into your schedule, consider a few 2-hour mini-retreats to help you catch up on your word count. 

 
I make time to write every morning. On days when I’m pressed for time (which happens frequently), I set my timer for 20 minutes. Because of my looming deadline, I’m heading to The Porches along with a few of my students for a four-day retreat. The friendly peer pressure of writers working next to me will guarantee I maintain my butt-in-the-chair practice. In the evenings we can celebrate our successes. 
 
This is my first NaMemoWriMo. It took close to a year to write the first draft of my previous book. In the past two weeks, I’ve written close to 15,000 words. Each day I write, new insights creep into my awareness. I’m seeing my book not as a series of chapters but as a whole project. The intensity is bringing my story to life. That alone makes this intensive slog worthwhile. 

 
*I am not paid to endorse or advertise any products or services mentioned in my newsletter. Any recommendations are given freely based on my personal experience. 

When Memories Fly: Tips for Engaging Your Involuntary Memory in the Writing Process

When Memories Fly: Tips for Engaging Your Involuntary Memory in the Writing Process

Over the past few months, I’ve struggled to figure out where to begin my new memoir. There are so many entry points for our stories. In fact, I wrote those words—there are so many entry points for this story—as the introductory sentence in a terrible draft I cranked out for a writing conference. (Insert palm to face!). There are many different ways to begin our stories.  Each entry point lends itself to a different version of the truth.

But which truth are we telling? In first drafts, we often don’t know, and so we go with what’s safe—the voluntary memories and rehearsed stories that are easy to recall. We list and outline and timeline these pivotal moments hoping they will turn the chaos of life into some kind of order. But as we write about these memories, we may find many of them are simply the backstory we need to tell ourselves before getting to the good stuff.

In his book The Art of Time in Memoir, Sven Birkerts says that involuntary memory is the gateway to the real past. It’s the place where the juice of memoir gets squeezed to create the hidden narrative of our life stories—the ones readers really care about. If voluntary memories are the ones we go searching for, involuntary memories are the ones that come searching for us.

In the most famous scene from Proust’s autobiographical novel Remembrance of Things Past, Proust eats a small sponge cake called a madeleine and is transported back to a childhood moment in his aunt’s house. Each sensory detail vividly rendered, Proust relives the moment rather than recalls it.

As I wrote and rewrote several beginnings for my memoir, an involuntary memory came to me while I walked my neighborhood. Hot and muggy, the hazy sky reminded me of powdered sugar over a cake—the blue only slightly visible. Sweat drizzled down my back. My clothes stuck to my skin. Suddenly I was twenty, dressed in a borrowed skydiving jumpsuit that reeked of old sweat, grass stains, and fear. I could almost feel the fifty-pound pack on my back. I trotted home and quickly knocked out a draft, knowing from experience that my unconscious was on to something good.

That’s the thing about involuntary memory: it’s the unconscious mind’s way of working things out. UVA professor Mark Edmundson calls involuntary memory the most important tool in your writing toolbox—an aspect of the self that deserves frequent rewards if you wish to put it to good use. But how do you activate involuntary memories for yourself?

  • Flip through old photo albums and choose a picture that catches your eye. Study the photograph, look away, then study it again and search for something you haven’t yet noticed. Write about this new element.
  • Eat foods from the period you’re writing about and cook recipes that fill your house with familiar smells.
  • Pay attention to your surroundings—especially tastes and smells which can evoke the strongest memories. It may be the smell in an apartment you visit as an adult or the taste of a dinner party dessert that transports you to a childhood moment. Schools, churches, hospitals, and other institutions frequently trigger involuntary memories because the smells and visuals are so distinctive.
  • Seek novelty in your daily life. This could include activities as simple as starting a walk with a non-dominant foot, eating with your non-dominant hand, or going to a toy store. Novelty forces you to pay attention, and paying attention can lead to big rewards.
  • Select a period in your life. Set a timer for fifteen minutes and list all the things you remember. Conscious activation of memory can prime the pump for the unconscious mind to chip in.
  • Ask your unconscious for help. Write a formal request and tape it to your door. Read the request before leaving your house, and ask your unconscious what it wants as a reward. Whenever you get an answer—no matter how small—offer yourself the reward.

Once you’ve captured a juicy memory, it’s all about what the hell it means. Jot down the scene to the best of your ability then wrestle with what it’s telling you. Make a list of what it could be about. Go for walks. Create some Venn diagrams. Ask your unconscious mind for help.

The book I’m currently writing is about how traveling with a heavy metal band after my brother’s suicide gave me the courage to carry on. Skydiving was something I did in the years leading up to my brother’s death. While it was cool (you should definitely try it), the memory felt very tangential.

Yet the memory persisted. So I went for more midday walks and sweated, and asked my unconscious for help. One day, I was not only back at the drop zone, sweltering in that nasty old jumpsuit, but I was also face down, suspended from the ceiling by a series of straps during a free-fall training class jokingly referred to as How Not to Die. A big fan of gallows humor, I loved that class—name and all.  How Not to Die was the lesson I wished I had taught my brother and the one I had to teach myself.  Finally, I had an opening that framed the story I wanted to tell.

My friend, writer Dana Mich, recently attended Brave Magic with Cheryl Strayed and Liz Gilbert. Their advice was to write fast and bad. I would also add, write open. Had I not written that terrible draft for the writing conference and continued to write new ones while asking my unconscious for help, I never would’ve made the connection between skydiving and a central theme in my book. I’d still be trying to tame the chaos of that time period by working with memories as tired and worn as last year’s running shoes. Instead, I get to explore the skies.

Your Writing Conference Toolkit: Planning, Packing, and Pacing Yourself

Your Writing Conference Toolkit: Planning, Packing, and Pacing Yourself

This post originally appeared in the June 15, 2018 edition of the WriterHouse Newsletter.

While summer is fabulous for beach reading and destination vacations, it’s also a great time to attend writing conferences. Whether you’re interested in getting started with a regional option, or you want to apply for one of the more prestigious conferences, the preparation required is similar.

Plan Ahead: Some conferences, like VQR, The Writers Hotel, Bread Loaf, and Sewanee require applications. If you’re interested in the conferences listed above, 2019 applications will open in January; however, the Key West Literary Seminar is currently accepting applications. Even if you’re not interested in a conference that requires an application, planning ahead is important. Most conferences offer early-bird registration discounts and discounts on preferred hotels. And, if you ask around, you may find someone in the area looking for a roommate who can split hotel costs.

Pack Smart: Beyond business casual clothes and comfy travel shoes, you’ll want to pack business cards that include your name, email address, website, and social media handles so you can exchange them with your new conference BFFs. Days can be long and travel meals costly. Pack light snacks for your conference bag. Find out if any meals are included with your conference fee. If there’s a refrigerator or microwave in your room, consider bringing breakfast items like yogurt or oatmeal so you can save a few bucks. Also, be sure to download any conference apps and join the conference Facebook pages so you stay up-to-date on conference happenings.

Establish Networking Goals: One of the big payoffs for conference attendance is the ability to meet writers from other parts of the country who can share resources, serve as beta readers, and cheer you on. But let’s face it, many writers are introverts and networking can be exhausting. (Personally, my people shelf is narrow and quickly fills). Before you leave, set a conference goal to ensure you get the most out of this networking opportunity. At every conference, I try to exchange business cards with at least five attendees and talk to at least one presenter. If you have a book-length project, pitching to agents can be another great way to network. Find out if pitching is an option at any conferences you’re interested in attending and whether these opportunities require additional costs.

Pace Yourself: Attending a conference is like running a mini-marathon. Don’t be afraid to take breaks. If possible, stay in the conference hotel so you have easy access to your room between sessions. Study the conference schedule and decide what’s most important for this trip. For example, at one conference, it may be important to get a good night’s sleep so you can sharply answer early-morning agent questions. At another conference, stretching yourself by reading at the evening open mic may be the right option. Most conferences are annual, so you can always return if you feel like there’s something you missed.

Evaluate Your Experience: Your conference dollars are valuable. Be sure you’re getting the most out of the experience. One week after you return from the conference, fill out any evaluation forms provided by the organizers then ask yourself the following questions:

  1. Am I inspired?
  2. Do I feel connected?
  3. Did I learn something new?

If you can’t answer yes to all three questions, consider whether a  genre-specific conference or a more challenging option is a better fit.

For a complete list of conferences, check out the AWP website.

Happy conferencing!

The Crater Versus The Observation Deck: The Importance of Writing in Scene

The Crater Versus The Observation Deck: The Importance of Writing in Scene

On forty-fourth birthday, I hiked into a volcano. This happened during an early-April bucket list trip with my husband to the Big Island of Hawaii. A recovering adrenaline junkie with a deep love of adventures, I’d dreamed of standing next to a lava river or perhaps watching a lava fountain rise in the air for years (from a safe distance, of course). Since it was my birthday, I felt certain this would happen.The Hawaii Volcanoes National Park includes a series of craters–some erupted in the past while others, like the Halema‘uma‘u Crater, are still active. Our first stop was the Jaggers Museum observation deck. The lava lake in the Halema‘uma‘u Crater was high, and despite the miles between me and the crater, I could see faint lava bubbles pop in the air. Volcanic heat pressed against my skin. (Birthday luck, check one).

When we left the observation deck, we drove a few miles along Crater Rim Drive then hiked through a lush rainforest and into the Kīlauea Iki Crater lava lake. Cars lined the trailhead parking lot giving the air of calculated risk. We laughed at the signs warning of instability and steam vents.


Sign on the rainforest trail into Kīlauea Iki Crater

Inside the crater’s Martian landscape things got real. The largely barren, brownie-batter-like floor was surrounded by high cliff walls. Steam plumed from broken rocks resembling frozen waves. Signs warned us not to veer from the rock-pile-marked trail. Lava could bubble up, after all. If something happened, escape would be difficult.

A mile in, rain battered me. Instead of turning back, I knelt on the lava floor and felt the pulsing volcanic heat—another reminder that while the surface may hold me, a magma river flowed beneath my feet.  I was in adventure heaven.

When we returned to the Halema‘uma‘u Crater at sunset to view the lava lake’s nightly show, the vibrant lava and ash against the twilight and the thrill of being so close to such a magnificent force made me forget my sore feet and soaked clothes. While my spurting lava wishes weren’t granted, the experience met all my birthday criteria.  Thank you, Mt. Kilauea.

         
Inside Kīlauea Iki Crater                                                    Halema‘uma‘u at night

 

We left Hawaii on April 14, 2018. Over the next two weeks, Mt. Kilauea rumbled. Lava continued to rise. On May 3, 2018, the Pu’u O’o crater collapsed. Pressure built underneath the surface.  Spontaneous eruptions broke apart subdivision roads, sending lava fountains hundreds of feet high. That spectacular show I’d witnessed only a few weeks earlier was not the gentle entertainment of a cat-napping giant. It was the precursor to a major eruption.

Like all things, this reminded me of the writing process. As writers, we come to the page ready to entertain and enlighten. But once there, we need to figure out how to approach our stories. Should we stand on the observation deck or hike into the crater?

Many writers start their drafts on the observation deck—viewing the story from afar. They tell what happened. I went on an exciting trip to Hawaii. We hiked in into a crater then viewed the lava lake at night. It was awesomeThere’s nothing wrong with starting here if that motivates you to write, but the excitement happens while you stand inside the volcano, not while you’re looking at one. Readers want to feel your fear, anger, and excitement. They want to smell the steam and feel the rock. To do this, your work must come alive. In writing, the walk into the crater is often called writing in scene.  Richard Roorbach, author of Writing Life Stories defines scenes as “events that take place in a specific time and place. Scenes record events, actions, talk, stuff happening.” It’s the cinematic version of the lived experience. Or, to put it simply, it’s showing rather than telling.

Whether you’re writing a memoir or a short story, showing is essential. But how do you know if you’re doing this? Set a timer for twenty minutes, write without stopping, and see what happens. After you’re done, ask whether the work reads like you’re reliving the experience or like you’re telling it from your armchair. If you’re reliving events, you’re hiking the crater. Keep this up.

If the work feels observational, see if you can choose a specific memory to fully render. Fill it with sights, smells, and sounds. Add some dialogue. If this feels like a challenge, get curious about why you’re standing on the observation deck. Are you having trouble remembering exactly what happened? Is the topic so emotionally charged it feels painful? Are you unsure where to begin?

If memory is the problem, look through a photo album and find a picture that evokes strong feelings (for fiction choose a magazine photo). Show what happened directly before the photo was snapped. Where are the characters? Who is there? Why are they taking this picture?  Repeat this exercise until you get a sense of who your narrator is and what she’s after. Once you’ve exhausted your pictures, create a physical map of your story’s setting, as Richard Roorbach suggests in his book. You can also listen to music from the era you’re writing about to evoke new memories, but don’t forget the power of smell and taste. Follow Marcel Proust’s lead and eat something from the period you want to capture. As you taste that familiar dish, recreate the scene where you ate it. Who was there? What was going on? How did it feel in your mouth?  The more you write, the more you’ll remember.

If, as you’re writing, the work brings up painful feelings or the events you want to write about include trauma, break the experience into smaller parts. Be sure to list the pleasant scenes as well as the dark ones. Include dark humor and events where the narrator received help from others. Choose the least painful scene as your starting point. Write for twenty minutes and see how you feel. In a couple of days, repeat the exercise. If it’s still difficult, write from the observation deck until you develop comfort with the subject. If that doesn’t work, write about something else.

If you’re not sure where to start, follow Kurt Vonnegut’s advice and make your character thirsty. Let his first search be for a glass of water.

In an interview for Writing Hard Stories by Melanie Brooks (a must-read for any memoirist), Andrew Dubus says, “just because we know what happened doesn’t mean we know what the hell happened.” I would argue that until we create vivid scenes for our stories, what happened isn’t even clear. That’s why hiking the crater is so important.

Mastering the scene in your early drafts will illuminate what happened. Along the way, you’ll begin to realize what the hell happened. Sprinkle it in, but remain open to new interpretations. More insightful reflections may arise as you read your complete draft or learn more about the situation. You never know. Life may happen, just as it did at the Hawaii Volcano National Park, giving you a new perspective. Your trips into the crater may begin as a spectacular birthday adventure only to turn into a cautionary tale on luck.

Six Ways to Access the Benefits of Doubt

Six Ways to Access the Benefits of Doubt

The air stings my cheeks as I walk the same four blocks I’ve trudged all winter, taking yet another break from my writing. “Yo, HP (this is what I call my higher power), am I crazy for doing this?” I say this into the wind and follow with my typical barrage of questions. Am I crazy for believing I have a book inside me? Am I crazy for writing all these words then cutting them only to write some more? How will I know when it’s good enough? When will I get comfortable?

After my questions, I always ask for the same thing: send me a sign.

In my mind, a sign is a book deal or someone important praising my work. But HP is stingy with messages that stroke my ego. Instead, a bluebird crosses my path signaling it will all be ok. Later, a conversation with a fellow writer settles my doubt, at least for a little while. But comfortable? I get about an hour of that per year. Always in short doses.

Discomfort is the inevitable sidekick of the writing life. Frequently appearing as doubts, discomfort motivates us to see the world from different angles. It makes us question our assumptions, review our work, and develop email refresh habits. It can make us feel anxious about possible rejections and relieved when we get them. Out of control doubt is crazy-making. But right-sized doubt can motivate us to develop humility, work a little harder, and remain lifelong learners. In fact, that tense, shaken-and-stirred place is where the creative magic happens if we can maintain a sense of balance.

There are three forms of doubt all writers face—doubts about claiming to be a writer, doubts about the writing path, and doubts about the quality of one’s work. If you let these doubts rule your life, they’ll kick your passion to the curb and leave your desk littered with paper balls. Resignation letters may follow as you accept the very lies they tell you about your inability to write anything at all. After all, doubt will have you believe every evening real writers place piles of beautifully crafted error-free pages on their oak credenzas (whatever they are) while awaiting the next award. But you? You’re a pile shuffler with more ideas than answers, and time is not always your friend.

For a long time, I wanted to knuckle punch my doubts on the way out the door. But a few years ago, a wise yoga instructor told me what we resist persists. She said I needed to discover and embrace the benefits of my doubts. So, I decided to listen. Embracing my doubts hasn’t taken away my discomfort, but it allows me to accept that doubt has a place in my writing life. Being a writer means choosing to be uncomfortable. If you think about it, how can we write about the thing that keeps us up at night if we don’t have something serving that function? Doubt makes sure you do. The key is praising doubt for its gifts without letting it run the show.

Strategies for Managing Doubt

  • Balance doubts with affirmations. Find a few you like or print your favorite ones from the list below. Tape them to your desk. Better yet, frame a few and hang them on your wall. You can also follow Brene Brown’s suggestion and create a playlist of anthems you can take into your writing arena. Anthems are songs that help you tap into your courage and strengths. My current favorites include “Ordinary Heroes” by the Foo Fighters, “Do You Realize” by the Flaming Lips, and “Beautiful” by Christina Aguilera. Occasionally, I’ll add a few Sex Pistols tunes to my mix because dark and dirty also pumps me up.
  • Set an intention for every writing project. Make it something personal, meaningful, and unrelated to publishing. The best intentions involve thinking, feeling, or believing something different about yourself. For example, when I wrote In the Land of Flood and Slaughter I wanted to heal from Lyme disease and forgive my mother.  When I received rejections or feedback that required me to do something difficult, these intentions gave me the courage to keep going.
  • Build a writing community that includes mentors who can give you guidance, colleagues who can commiserate and encourage, and mentees who can benefit from your experience. This will teach you how to give and receive the encouragement and wisdom needed to tell your most important stories. While you’re at it, select one or two special writing friends to serve as writing buddies who can keep you accountable and provide feedback on your work.
  • Set simple, small goals. Writing 2 – 4 times per week for five minutes may make you more productive than telling yourself you’ll write every day for an hour. Small goals are easier to accomplish. Plus, studies have shown that short bursts of work can propel you into a state of flow, that lovely state of hyperfocus where time and space slip away. When you meet a writing goal reward yourself. This can be as simple as saying, “Good job writer,” basking in the feeling of having written, or sending an email to your writing buddy saying mission accomplished.
  • Learn to trust your gut. In his video “The Taste Gap,This American Life host Ira Glass talks about the gap we all have between our excellent taste (as in the beautiful, fully formed stories in our heads) and our talent. Sometimes the doubts tugging at your gut are simply signals that you’re approaching the gap. If you can learn to trust that feeling, you’ll be able to target areas for improvement. To use doubt wisely, print two copies of your work. On one copy, highlight the areas where you’re feeling the greatest sense of doubt. Give the other copy to a writing friend and ask for feedback. Don’t tell them about the first copy. Afer the critique compare the two copiesDoes the feedback match your doubts? If it does, then you know your gut is serving you well. If it doesn’t, maybe you’re not giving yourself enough credit. Pay attention to your affirmations and keep writing.
  • Talk back to your doubts. Get out your journal and do a little automatic writing. Set a timer for 15 minutes. Write down the following question: Doubt, what do you want me to know?  Write whatever comes to mind. If you can, use your nondominant hand. Don’t stop until the timer goes off. If you run out of thoughts, write the word thinking until the next idea comes to you. You’ll be surprised to find out what’s really going on.
  • Develop a gratitude practice. Some people start and end the day by writing down three things they’re grateful for. At the end of each writing session, writer Andre Dubus used to write the words thank you. The more you pay attention to what’s working, the more you’ll be able to counter what’s not.

If none of these suggestions work, go for a walk and ask your higher power, your creative self, or a trusted friend the questions your doubts are bringing to the surface. When you’re done, ask for a sign, or better yet a happy surprise, then keep writing and be on the lookout for something good

 *This post also appeared in the April 17, 2018 edition of the WriterHouse Newsletter

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